


Video Games

by rehliamonster



Series: The Games Series [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Sex, Monster sex, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Requited Crush, Roommates, Sensitive bones, Shameless Smut, Sleepy Sex, bone stimulation, definitely consensual though, handjob, no ectococks for once, reader is female
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 23:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12119778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rehliamonster/pseuds/rehliamonster
Summary: Sans has his way with you on the couch.





	Video Games

**Author's Note:**

> Gimme soft slow lazy sex with the favourite skeleton. Big mood.

You close the door to your flat behind you and try not to fall over as you do so. 

Maybe, just _maybe_ , you should’ve stopped after drink number two. Instead of, you know, continuing with drink three, four and five. What can you say, you were a little bit frustrated. For reasons. 

From the living room, you hear the usual noises of Sans playing on his console, though you can’t guess what he’s playing from here. Your roommate likes a quiet night in just as much as he likes hanging out with people. Since you had been invited to a birthday party by one of your human friends tonight and there were no other monsters invited, Sans had declined your invitation to accompany you. You couldn’t blame him. 

Monsters were still not entirely welcomed everywhere. 

There were a lot of people side eyeing the two of you for sharing an apartment, and you’d had to defend yourself from rude comments and other nasty stuff from your neighbors already. Stuff like your laundry or mail getting stolen or thrown into the trash, or said trash emptied out on the doorstep. Never anything dangerous or too conspicuous, always something that could have been done by any random idiot walking through, the security wasn’t too great in this place after all. 

So, yeah. 

With that kind of racism employed by humans, you get why Sans hadn’t wanted to come. But it also kind of sucks because you like going out to party with him. He’s fun. 

You like sharing a flat with him too and fuck all your neighbors and anyone else who has a problem with that. 

Kicking your shoes into a corner next to the door, you wobble your way into the living room. The lights are off, the entire room only lit by the flickering light from the TV, basking it in a soft, static kind of blue. It falls on Sans like it belongs there, that light, matching the colour of his hoodie and what you’ve seen so far of his magic. He seems pretty focused on his game, eye lights dim and content and not moving from their positions while his delicate phalanges operate the buttons of the controller with a precision that traps your eyes on them for a moment. 

“hey,” he mumbles, still not looking up when you sit down next to him on the couch, drawing your feet up. He has a blanket spread over his legs that he allows you to tug over you as well when you scoot closer to him. 

It’s comfy.

“What’re you playing?” you inquire, your words slurring into each other. 

“dunno, some kind of rpg. forgot the title. alph gave it to me.” 

You hum thoughtfully, watching the screen through half-lidded eyes. Under the blanket, sharing the body heat with him, the lingering chill from the outside is chased away quickly and you’re starting to relax. The leftover buzz from the alcohol and the low sounds from the game have a lulling effect, but the flickering light prevents you from actually falling asleep. 

It’s just pleasantly soothing and comfortable. 

For a while, you watch him play. You occasionally sneak a few gulps of the soda he has stashed next to him, steal some of his nachos. You leave the ketchup alone though. Not just because that would make him mad. You also don’t get how he can drink the stuff, because yuck. It helps sober you up a little, so it’s not because of the alcohol when you lean against him. 

You just want to. 

Because he’s nice and hard and warm and he smells good. And his hoodie is soft and everything is comfy. 

The best thing is how he lets you, settles against you even and just continues playing as if it’s nothing. You have a great view of his deft fingers from this vantage point. They make soft clicking sounds each time they hit a button. It’s very distracting. 

Not because of the sound itself, just… 

Yeah. 

You look away from his hands before your imagination really gets going. What’s this game even about, let’s look at that instead. You see some sort of spiky anime character with freakishly giant feet and a really big sword that looks wonky and like a key. There’s zippers everywhere. Disney characters surround the anime kid and fight against colourful shadow monsters. 

Pretty trippy. 

“Is this fun?” you wonder. 

“yeah,” he says, and you can feel the little motion that’s a half aborted shrug, him wanting to shrug fully but stopping because he doesn’t want to jostle your head that has ever so slowly appropriated some space on his shoulder. He’s bony but honestly you don’t really mind. 

You can feel his bones shift as he breathes.

The two of you are almost in synch. 

“was the party fun?” Sans eventually asks, during one of the calmer parts of the game, after he has saved. 

“It was okay,” you allow, leaving out that you constantly missed him because you kept making all the puns you learned from him but nobody around really appreciated them and everyone just looked awkward and it made you feel lonely. Then people had started making out as everyone got more drunk and you had allowed some guy to go as far as sticking his tongue into your mouth and get a feel of your ass before you had shoved him away and claimed you felt sick and that you’d leave because of that. 

Truth was though, he had just felt too fleshy for your current tastes. 

That was a problem you never had before. 

But, what can you say. Living in close proximity with Sans has done things to you. He’s casual and calm and relaxed and funny. He’s a bit of a little shit and keeps making those dumb jokes that you secretly love but society has deemed lame, and he loves it when you make them back. He misses his brother who’s studying and keeps rambling about how awesome the guy is and you find that genuine love and admiration for his sibling incredibly endearing. Sans makes the best quiches and the pies he makes when he gets a new recipe from his buddy the queen of monsters (because wow this guy has friends in high places, what the fuck) are awesome as well, but otherwise he has really weird tastes in food and will eat almost anything. He plays the trombone, badly, and uses it to make you laugh at yourself instead of cry when something goes wrong in your life. He’s a good roommate and an even better friend.

And he smells good. And looks good. 

And he has these amazing, nimble hands.

So to put it simply, you have a huge fucking awkward crush on him and the fact that he’s a skeleton isn’t deterring you one bit, which, wow. What the fuck. 

The thing is, you tried to repress it because you already have enough trouble to deal with from your neighbors and everyone else who doesn’t like the two of you living together. But then there are all these moments that keep happening, where the two of you randomly end up in each other’s personal space and freeze, staring at each other while neither of you dares to make a move. 

That doesn’t help. 

At all. 

You tilt your head back far enough that you can look at his profile while still resting your head on his shoulder. His skull is round and looks smooth and shiny and, weirdly enough, sort of squishy. It’s definitely bone, but he somehow manages to have a babyface in spite of that, all rounded corners and soft lines, with a short stubby nasal bone and huge wide eye sockets with those lights inside. Only his teeth destroy that image, big and blunt and present in a constant grin. It’s hard to say if he smiles because he’s a skeleton or because he wants to. 

Given that you’ve seen variations in the expression, you suspect the latter. 

“what,” he asks. His eyes still haven’t left the screen, but he must have felt you looking at him. 

“Nothing.” 

“hm.” 

He keeps playing for a bit and then pauses the game. Turns his head to look at you. 

You stare at each other. 

“are you drunk?” he asks quietly, his voice low and gentle. 

“Not as much as I was when I came in,” you say clearly after a brief self-assessment. Sans says nothing in return, just watches your face like a hawk. That’s something he does sometimes. He’s pretty good at reading people. 

Whatever he finds there seems to satisfy him because his expression relaxes and the lights in his eyes grow fuzzy. You don’t know why they do that sometimes, but you like it. You think it’s cute. His breath is warm against your lips. He's so close. Your faces are _so_ close to each other, barely an inch separating you. 

He leans forwards exactly in the moment where you wish he would kiss you. 

You meet him by turning your head a bit more, without actually lifting it from his shoulder. What can you say, the soft fabric of his hoodie covering his shoulder feels pretty nice against your skin. 

It's kind of weird because he's all teeth. He doesn't have lips. The ridges surrounding his teeth can move, so it's not just you pressing your lips against enamel. But in the end, it’s still just… bone. That moves. Somehow. 

Yeah, you’re not gonna question this. 

This is a beautifully cliched instance of months of mutual pining unloading themselves into a half-drunk, half-drowsy makeout session on your ratty old living room couch, and fuck you if you’re not going to indulge. 

You bring one hand up to cling to Sans shoulder, and he places one of his own on the back of your neck, pulling you even closer while he licks your lips. 

You really appreciate that he has a tongue, in spite of this whole thing of being a skeleton and all. It’s probably more meant for eating and speaking purposes, but still. 

Your mouth falls open almost automatically. 

There’s a quiet noise making its way straight from his mouth into yours when your tongues touch and Sans’ hand flexes on your neck. His tongue feels soft and smooth and a bit wetter than what you’re used to, in a good way. Your tongues slide easily against each other, exploring languidly. He flicks the roof of your mouth and the back of your teeth. You shiver, pressing yourself closer to him. 

His second hand is grabbing at your waist now, sneaking underneath your shirt to explore the softness of your skin and flesh there. The movements of those nimble fingers is careful and gentle, still exploring. Well, if he can do that, so can you. 

You push your free hand underneath his shirt and then awkwardly hover in the empty space between his pelvis and his ribcage. 

There’s nothing there to touch, where do you put your hand? Up into his ribcage? Down into his pelvis? On his spine? You have no idea how to proceed. This was a bit sudden and it’s not as if you have a lot of experience when it comes to the pleasuring of skeletons. 

You can suddenly hear Sans chuckle. 

Prick. 

You decide to go for his ribs first. Touching someone’s chest is less lewd than putting your hands down someone’s pants, so you hope the same will be true for monsters. It seems to work if Sans’ satisfied grumble is anything to go by. When you dip your fingers into the spaces between his ribs, he even moans quietly. 

Shit. 

That sounded really, really good. You squirm uncomfortably in your seat, your arousal heating up your core and sending a prickle through your limbs. You can feel yourself getting wet fast. It’s been so long. You’ve been crushing on him for so long now, repressing your desire for him, that now when you’re finally kissing each other you’re not sure if merely kissing him will be enough to satisfy you. 

That’s not how you do things normally. 

You like to take your time.

Get to know your partner, and all that stuff. 

But the thing is, you already know Sans. You’ve been living with him and by being roommates the two of you have grown closer as friends as well. That tension of repressed desire between you had been there for quite a while too. Maybe that’s why it feels different. 

Maybe that’s why you don’t mind his hand making its way up your torso and caressing the flesh of your breasts, teasing your nipples. Maybe that’s why you rake your fingernails over the insides of his ribs just to hear him moan again, louder this time. 

Maybe that’s why you buck against him when he turns to face you fully. 

There’s no resistance when he pushes you back against the couch. You fall back, legs half tangled in the blanket you’ve shared with him, desperate to get his mouth back onto your lips. 

Sans is otherwise occupied though, using that heated wet tongue of his to lick all the secret sensitive spaces in the crook of your neck, causing you to arch up against him, pressing yourself against his hard bones with a moan of your own. He grunts into your ear, his voice dark and promising. Delicious. 

His hands are pushing your shirt up and he slides down to kiss your breasts as soon as your torso is uncovered. You breathe heavily and watch him through lidded eyes, the intense concentration on his expression, scrunched up eyes and brow bones and a deep dark navy blush that blends into the blue light from the TV. His tongue is blue too. 

For some reason that stands out to you. 

He licks around your left areola before focusing on your nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue before licking it fully. You wish he would suck on it but you suppose that’s not entirely possible without lips. He’s grabbing more harshly onto your hips now, kneading the flesh there. You hiss when he takes your nipple between his teeth, not biting down but pulling on it just a little, while still licking it. 

“Sans…” you sigh. 

It’s an exclamation of your lust and a plea for him to get on with it and a disbelieving moan because your skeleton roommate has his mouth on your nipples, nuzzles his skull into the valley of your breasts, licks a path lower and lower to a destination you desperately want him to get to while still somewhat questioning if this isn’t going way too fast, but fuck, he’s opening your jeans and suddenly your hands are down there too because you can’t get them off fast enough, fuck. 

He doesn’t even bother. Just shoves them down to your ankles as far as they will go and then, with a last questioning gaze up at you, fuzzy blown-wide eye lights checking that you’re okay with this, he brings his mouth to your slick opening. 

You suck in a sharp breath that immediately escapes again as a quiet whine. His tongue feels heavenly on your cunt. He’s pressing the whole flat of it against you, licking in smooth strokes over your slit and ending with a little twist on your clit. Your mouth falls open and your legs spread further, as far as they can on the couch, without your conscious input. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the blanket. Your muscles are starting to shake with each lick. 

He exhales a low, shaky moan against your mound, burying his tongue between your folds. You buck against him and he grabs onto one of your thighs to steady himself, his skeletal fingers pressing against the fat and muscle. It contrasts with the movement of his other hand, moving with feathery touches over your belly. 

“Sans, please,” you sigh. “Please.” 

He increases his pace only marginally. You whine. The slow, steady rhythm of his tongue against your slick walls and his breath on your clit is driving you insane. He keeps moaning too, clearly enjoying himself down there. 

“Please,” you cry out when he goes back to those languid licks over your whole opening and your clit. 

After several more moments of teasing you he focuses on your sensitive bundle of nerves and brings you over the edge. You cry out, your vision blacking out for a second while your muscles contract and your heart is racing, your entire lower body trapped in a trembling, white-hot state of blissful release, held there by him as he continues to stimulate you right through your orgasm. 

He only stops licking you when it’s truly over and the overstimulation becomes too much for you. 

Sans daws back and looks up at you with his mouth hanging open, his teeth glistening from your slick. He looks unexpectedly intense like this. You reach out for him and he allows you to draw him up and back on top of you. To kiss the side of his skull, his weird squishy bony cheeks and finally his teeth. You can taste yourself there, savoury and sweet. 

He hums low in his nonexistent throat. 

Presses himself closer. 

Kisses you like it’s the only thing that counts, as if you have all the time in the world and nothing to worry about from anyone. You hook your arms around his neck and indulge. The world can fuck itself. This moment is for you and him, frozen in time and as eternal as it gets. His tongue tastes like you too now, underneath his own taste and the leftover hint of junk food. 

He eventually draws back to breathe. 

Funny how he needs that just as much as you do. He doesn’t even have lungs. What’s up with that. How does his body even work. 

“How do I get you off?” you whisper. 

You don’t know. He’s different from you. You wonder how he knew just what to do to you. Did he look it up? Practise for you? Did he think of you, get himself off to the thought of going down on you? You like that thought. Maybe you should have done the same for him. 

“touch my spine,” he instructs in nothing more than a whisper. “and my pelvis. my tailbone.” 

You bring your hands down from where they were on his neck, reaching around him to get to his spine and pelvis. Unusual, but not overly so, maybe. Your fingers run hesitantly over his spine, testing the feel of his bones, all the bumps and ridges. He sighs and places his skull back into the crook of your neck. 

Hmm. 

One hand still busy on his spine, you take the other and begin to massage the graceful arches of his hip bones. A small moan just below your ear. 

You start to stroke his spine like you would a dick while you keep exploring his pelvis. The insides of his bones feel different from the outsides. Less polished and more textured. More sensitive. They clearly haven’t been touched as much. He seems to like the flesh of your fingers more than your nails although he likes those too. He bucks against you with a groan when you rake them over the inside of his pubic bone. You can feel his feet twitching against your ankles.

When you reach his tailbone, his breath hitches. It’s almost a hiccup. You hook a finger into one of the holes there just to see what will happen and get a full-bodied shudder in return, a twitch that runs its way from the tip of his skull all the way down to his bony toes. His mouth is open against your neck, breath hot and wet and rapid. Needy. 

You flatten your hand against the inside of his tailbone and begin stroking it in synch with your hand on his spine, occasionally pausing to massage the holes with the tips of your fingers. It doesn’t take long until he’s putty in your hands, moaning desperately against the shell of your ear and the skin of your neck. 

The friction burns on your hands, but you’re determined to see this through and thankfully he goes stiff relatively quickly after, drowning his moans into your mouth as he goes back to kissing you deeply. His whole body is shaking against you, his bones rattling. 

Then he goes slack on top of you, breathing heavily. 

He doesn’t weigh much, so you don’t mind. 

Even though he’s kind of poky. 

Your hands are burning, but you barely even notice. Your whole body suddenly feels light and loose-limbed, buzzing pleasantly with your recent release and the satisfaction of sex with someone you’ve wanted for so long now. 

It also makes you kind of tired. 

You’d feel guilty about that, were it not for the fact that Sans’ breaths are starting to even out, going from deep post-orgasm almost-moans straight to slow and pre-dreaming almost-asleep. You suppress a giggle. Probably should’ve expected that from someone as low on energy as him. He seems to have gotten pretty comfy on your breasts. 

Ah, well. 

It’s fine. There’s a blanket right here. You can sleep with him on the couch and maybe have a talk about what just happened between you first thing in the morning. 

You have a feeling that you’re not just roommates anymore.


End file.
